


Wait for Me at the End of the World

by papermoontrick (chrofeather)



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Crisis Situation, Gen, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Stranded, this is the result of me watching too much Lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrofeather/pseuds/papermoontrick
Summary: Seungri makes a promise. All of their lives may depend on him keeping it.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

The air tastes vaguely of salt, a briny scent carried in on the breeze that would be refreshing if not for Seungri’s chapped lips and dry mouth. He’s sitting in the shade, knees pulled up to his chest to keep his feet out of the burning sand, staring out at the endless expanse of dazzling blue. The heat is heavy and sultry, a humid weight settling over the atmosphere like a physical burden, and Seungri’s shirt is damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably between his shoulder blades and under his arms.

 

He’s been out here for hours, or at least what feels like hours—he has no way of telling time but by the sun in the sky, and even that seems to always stay the same until night suddenly drapes itself over the sky like a silver-speckled canvas. That blissfully cold darkness seems further away than ever now, sitting in a weak patch of shade on an empty beach as he tries to ignore the scratchy dryness of his throat.

 

Seungri shuts his eyes against the brightness of the sun reflecting on the surface of the water and rests his forehead on his knees, quietly desperate for a brief respite from the searing sun. He imagines the darkness wrapping around him like a cool, insulating blanket, cooling his flushed skin and soothing the scrapes on his arms and legs. He’s thought about taking a dip in the ocean to cool off, but the saltwater only leaves his skin dry and his cuts stinging, his throat that much more parched with the tantalizing closeness.

 

Suddenly someone taps him on the shoulder, and Seungri jumps, startled out of his reverie. He looks over his shoulder to see that it’s only Youngbae, lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, tension draining from his posture.

 

“You know, keeping watch works better with your eyes open,” Youngbae chastises him gently.

 

“I know,” Seungri says, flashing a sheepish smile up at Youngbae and holding back a wince when the motion pulls at his dry, cracked lips.

 

Youngbae lets out a breathy chuckle and hands Seungri a tin can with no lid that looks like it could be from the Korean War, filled halfway with clear water. Seungri takes it eagerly, forcing himself to drink slowly, just a few sips at a time. It’s warm and metallic-tasting, but it wets his throat and lessens the throbbing in his head incrementally, so he refuses to complain.

 

“Thanks, _hyung_ ,” Seungri says, genuinely. His stomach is aching with hollowness, but he won’t mention that. He knows Youngbae and the others are just as hungry; he can see it in their eyes and in their sluggish movements, in the way they snap at each other over stupid little things.

 

It seems almost surreal that only a week ago the five of them were having the time of their lives: music and soju and conversation flowing freely aboard the boat Seunghyun had rented to celebrate their latest round of album sales. They had even topped the charts in America, and all of them found that worthy of celebration.

 

What came next was anything but.

 

\--

 

_Five days earlier_

 

Seungri coughs and chokes, spluttering awake as an unreasonable amount of salty water unceremoniously splashes him in the face, the waves pulling back for a few moments only to repeat the process again, the water smacking him in the face insistently. Eyes and nose stinging from the salt water, Seungri struggles to sit up with a groan, realizing not only that he is wet and cold but that it is very dark, waves crashing against the jagged outcrop of rocks where he lay.

 

He blinks, trying to get his bearings. Seungri looks around with increasing uncertainty, hoping to locate something, anything familiar. There is nothing but the dark outline of foliage against the blue-black of the night sky, bordered by a strip of sand that had to be a shoreline. _An island?_ So this is an island. But where? How? A whole host of questions flickers through Seungri’s mind, but he has no answers. At least no satisfactory ones, anyway.

 

He shivers, trying to rub some feeling back into his numb hands. He needs to get someplace dry, for starters. Limbs feeling shaky and weak, Seungri slowly struggles to his feet, wading to the shore perhaps thirty feet away. Water sluices from his clothes and his hair, and Seungri pushes his sopping wet bangs out of his eyes, panting.

 

“Hello?” he calls hesitantly into the night, finding his voice hoarse.

 

Silence. For a moment he thinks he might have heard something in the distance, but it is just as likely an echo of his own voice. He walks a bit further down the beach, trying to see around the curve of the shore.

 

“Hey!!” A desperate cry suddenly cuts through the air, a dark shape barreling across the sand with arms waving. “Hey!! Help!!”

 

“Daesung?!” Seungri’s eyes go wide, and he immediately breaks into a run. “ _Hyung!_ I’m over here!” It’s so dark that he can barely see where he’s going, trying to focus his vision on Daesung’s rapidly moving form.

 

He’s closer now, and the flickering of orange flames cast ghoulish shadows over the shapes scattered across the beach. There are several different fires, some burning small and others roaring, billowing black smoke rising from a pile of twisted metal…

 

Seungri stops dead in his tracks, feeling sick as jagged shards of memories flash through his mind: a plane, screaming, falling, pain, darkness, water, cold…

 

A heavy weight suddenly crashes into Seungri’s chest, knocking him flat on his back in the sand and shattering his reverie. He groans and looks up, dazedly trying to focus on the dark shape.

 

“Aah, I’m sorry! Seungri, Seungri, look at me!” Daesung is saying rapidly, desperately, his voice ragged and edged with panic as he shakes Seungri by the shoulders, kneeling beside him in the sand. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?!”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Seungri manages after a moment, still trying to process all this. “What happened?”

 

Daesung goes quiet for a moment, and the flames from the wreckage nearby reflect the fear in his eyes. “We don’t know yet,” he says with a quaver in his voice that he can’t quite suppress. “Come on, we’ve gotta meet up with the others.”

 

He pulls Seungri to his feet, and the two of them make a frantic dash for the field of twisted shrapnel that remains of their plane, their steps stumbling in the sand. In the shadow of one of the plane’s wings, a long piece of metal gouged deep in the earth at an angle, they find Youngbae with Seunghyun, whose skin is streaked black with soot, his eyes wide and bright with fear.

 

“ _Hyung_ , are you okay?” Daesung asks urgently, his gaze flitting from Youngbae to Seunghyun. “Both of you.”

 

“We’re fine,” Youngbae answers quickly. “Glad to see you found Seungri. Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” Seungri brushes the question aside impatiently, too shaken up to be polite. He looks around, anxious, and counts four, including himself. “Where’s Jiyong?”

 

A tense silence falls over the group, and Seungri watches the other three exchange grim looks between them. “You’re telling me no one’s even seen him?” he snaps, sharper than he intends. “Well, come on! We have to find him!”

 

He’s only half a step away when he hears Youngbae whisper: “The plane.”

 

Seungri stops and turns sharply to face Youngbae. “What?”

 

“The plane,” Youngbae repeats, his gaze directed toward the smoking heap of wreckage about the size of a semi-truck about fifty feet away. “…it’s the only place we haven’t looked.” In the darkness it’s hard to tell, but the flames from the smoldering wreckage briefly illuminate Youngbae’s dark eyes in a way that reveals unshed tears.

 

“Well, then why the hell aren’t we looking?!” Seungri growls, hardly in the mood to remember his manners. “Come on!!” He runs toward the wreckage without waiting for the others, too caught up in the dread knotting his stomach to notice them only a few steps behind. He grabs at a sheet of twisted metal only to hiss and let go when it burns his hands.

 

“The hatch.” Seunghyun points to the side of the plane where the door has been torn off, the entrance bowed and bent and partially obstructed by a wing fragment. He approaches it with single-minded determination, his eyes distant—focused on something only he could see. Broad hands yank the piece of wing away from the opening with no regard for the temperature of the metal, and he’s ducking into the ruined fuselage before anyone can stop him.

 

“ _Hyung_ , wait!” Youngbae calls out, too late.

 

There’s nothing they can do but wait, holding their breath and silently hoping that the wreckage won’t explode. That the fuel lines aren’t filling the interior with fumes along with smoke, that the fuel won’t catch with the fire, that Seunghyun isn’t doing this for nothing. They watch the entrance with a mixture of terror and hope, straining to see past the black smoke leaking from every opening in the wreckage. Youngbae is clutching the cross pendant he wears around his neck, his lips moving in whispered prayers Seungri can’t hear.

 

A wheezing cough shatters the silence, and after what seems like an eternity Seunghyun stumbles out of the wreckage, carrying Jiyong’s limp, motionless form in his arms. He doesn’t make it three steps before he falls to his knees, coughing and wheezing as he tries to catch his breath, and the other members immediately surround him.

 

Daesung makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob—more than likely a fair representation of how they’re all feeling at the moment. Morbidly, Seungri finds himself thinking it’s a miracle that Jiyong is in one piece after all this, but seeing the pallid shade of Jiyong’s skin makes dread twist his gut anew.

 

He notices the dark, wet stains glistening on Seunghyun’s shirt, the way his hands are slick with a thick, dark liquid. Seunghyun’s expression looks as though he is grieving, and he looks from his hands to his friends, seeming almost childishly lost.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” is the first thing that comes out of Seungri’s mouth when he sees what Seunghyun sees, and if he weren’t in a state of shock he thinks he might want to throw up.

 

There’s a long, jagged shard of metal protruding about three inches from Jiyong’s left side, just under his ribs, and with every labored breath he takes, Seungri can see the flash of white bone under the flesh and the metal, blood oozing steadily from the wound. The shard went in at an angle, almost underlining the “mind control” tattoo that snakes along Jiyong’s ribcage, and it shifts slightly every time his chest moves up and down.

 

Jiyong’s eyes are open, glassy with shock as he stares into nothing, his breathing fast and shallow. He doesn’t seem to know they’re even there, lying in the sand where Seunghyun had set him down and shivering minutely.

 

Seungri feels a lurch of fear somewhere in his chest, a dark thing that constricts his heart like a vice grip, and he kneels next to Jiyong, taking one of the leader’s bony hands in his own. “ _Hyung_ , can you hear me?” he asks, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt at the moment. “Please, you’ve gotta stay with us… Focus, okay?”

 

Jiyong doesn’t say anything at first, breathing shallowly through parted lips, and his tongue darts out to wet them. He blinks once, twice, seems to focus on Seungri for a moment. It seems like he wants to say something, but no words come, though as his eyes drift closed he weakly squeezes Seungri’s hand.

 

Youngbae is saying something in an urgent tone of voice, the one that tells Seungri it’s important and he should listen, but for some reason it sounds distant, drowned out by the ringing in his ears. Seungri hasn’t even tried to stand up, but somehow he feels dizzy, transfixed by the sand stained dark with blood. Someone is yelling, he thinks, but he can hear them only vaguely, the sounds distant in the fog that surrounds his mind. He thinks he might be crying, but he can’t tell if the warm, wet liquid drops on his hand are tears or blood.

 

~oOo~

 

 

If he weren’t in a state of mild shock at the moment, Seungri thinks he might want to throw up right now. But, oddly, he feels so calm it’s a shock in and of itself, without even a hint of nausea or panic or that shaky feeling he gets when he’s about to break down crying. He’s in a sort of fog of numbness at the moment, and while it can’t be a good thing in the long run, Seungri is vaguely grateful for it now. He needs a clear head.

 

“Water,” Youngbae says, and Daesung pours a bit of the precious little fresh water from the bottle for Youngbae to wash his hands. He looks at each one of them with solemn brown eyes that betray nothing; outwardly, he is calm. But Seungri can see the tension in Youngbae’s neck and shoulders, and he knows this won’t be easy for any of them.

 

In the confines of their makeshift tent, they sit in a quiet semicircle around Jiyong’s supine form, listening to the leader’s labored breathing. The shard of metal sticking out from just below his ribs is slick and red with blood—there is so much blood on Jiyong’s clothes and on Seunghyun’s hands and oozing sluggishly from the edges of the wound. It’s been twelve hours since the crash, and they have no choice now but to take matters into their own hands. Normally, Youngbae says, this would be a terrible idea, but the circumstances are dire. If the shard isn’t removed, then Jiyong will die a slow, agonizing death from infection or internal bleeding.

 

None of them are anything close to doctors, but Youngbae took a first aid course at YG once, and that makes him the most qualified to perform the impromptu surgery. He has the steadiest hands of all of them, and he’s the least squeamish. Poor Seunghyun is almost as pale as Jiyong, looking like he’s seen a ghost (or rather far too much of their leader’s blood).

 

“I need you all to listen to me, okay?” Youngbae says, his voice low, soothing. “All of you.”

 

He gets three hesitant nods in response, and even barely lucid with pain, Jiyong makes an attempt to focus on his words.

 

“Seunghyun, I need you to hold him down.”

 

Seunghyun licks his dry lips and, after only a heartbeat’s pause, shifts his position so that he can place broad hands on Jiyong’s shoulders, pinning them down with his solid weight.

 

Youngbae’s gaze turns to their youngest. “Seungri, sit on his legs. I need you to keep him as still as possible. It could make things worse if he moves too much.”

 

“Right.” His voice comes out hoarse, barely audible. He moves to straddle Jiyong’s slender legs, finding no resistance whatsoever, and that in itself makes him worry. As skinny as Jiyong is, Seungri knows well the wiry strength in those limbs, and it’s frightening to see him this way.

 

Youngbae doesn’t need to instruct Daesung; he’s already doing what he does best, and that is to keep everyone grounded. Together. Daesung sits between Youngbae and Seunghyun and takes one of Jiyong’s hands in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

 

“ _Hyung,_ look at me,” Daesung says in that soothing quiet voice of his, and Jiyong blinks a few times before focusing his glassy eyes on the figure next to him. Jiyong is deathly pale and sweaty, his bangs sticking damply to his forehead, and he looks terrified. His breathing quickens, his grip tightening weakly on Daesung’s hand, but Daesung shushes him gently.

 

“Don’t worry, _hyung_ ,” he says softly, brushing Jiyong’s sweat-dampened bangs back from his forehead. “We’re going to take care of you. Everything’s going to be okay. You trust us, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah,” Jiyong rasps after a few seconds, the word barely audible. He looks like he wants to say more, but he has no more strength left to speak, so instead he just nods, his hand trembling in Daesung’s warm, solid grip.

 

“I’ll try to make this as quick as I can,” Youngbae says, and though everyone is hanging on his every word, none of them dare to speak. “Stopping the bleeding is the most important part.”

 

Jiyong swallows hard and then tries to look down, but Seunghyun’s hands on his shoulders and Daesung’s cool hand on his forehead won’t let him.

 

“No, _hyung_. You look at me,” Daesung quietly insists, keeping his gaze locked with Jiyong’s. “Just focus on me.”

 

Youngbae takes a deep breath and lets it out, shaking the last of the water droplets off his hands. He braces a hand against Jiyong’s abdomen, the skin feverishly hot beneath his touch, grasps the metal shard, and _pulls._

 

The shard slides out with a sickening sound of ragged flesh and metal scraping against bone, and Jiyong’s scream is pure agony. He writhes and thrashes on pure instinct, but the solid weight of the two Seunghyuns keeps him from doing much more than arching his back and weakly kicking. Youngbae is already pressing a towel against the ragged wound in Jiyong’s side, grimacing as it is quickly soaked in scarlet.

 

Jiyong is breathing hard now, trembling all over in the aftermath of such pain, and he looks close to passing out. Poor Seunghyun is white as a sheet, looking so utterly lost that it’s disconcerting.

 

Youngbae keeps pressure on the still-bleeding wound, his expression steadily calm while Daesung encourages Jiyong to breathe normally. The air inside the makeshift tent is stifling, and Seungri sits off to the side with his knees drawn up to his chest, blinking sweat out of his eyes while Seunghyun has an iron grip on his shoulder.

 

Seungri is trying to focus on his breathing, trying to block out the warm metallic smell that is thick in the air. He can’t look at the situation at hand, just can’t, because he thinks if he does then he’ll break down in hysterics and that is the last thing they need.

 

He has half a mind to say something to Seunghyun next to him, but he’s fairly sure Seunghyun is trying his hardest not to do the same.

 

~oOo~

 

Three days pass. Seungri knows because he remembers to count the sunrises, to count the nights and days spent watching ceaselessly for signs of civilization: ships, planes, whatever. Hell, even a raft would be a welcome sight at this point. They keep at least one person on watch at all times, sitting on the beach and staring out at the blindingly blue water to watch for ships. They’ve arranged rocks on the shore in the shape of an SOS in hopes that someone will see it from above; someone will be looking for them by now, right?

 

 _The sooner, the better_ , Seungri thinks to himself. With every hour that goes by, the nagging sliver of doubt in his mind grows a little more urgent, and the anxiety churns his stomach.

 

Their shelter is flimsy at best: a framework of stiff palm leaves covered by the tarp and leaning up against a large metal piece of the plane embedded in the sand. It doesn’t look like it would survive more than a strong breeze, if Seungri is being honest, but it’s all they’ve got. Daesung managed to start a fire using Jiyong’s lighter and a rag soaked in jet fuel, and the black smoke is noxious but contrasts starkly against the blue sky, so they keep it burning.

 

Someone taps on Seungri’s shoulder, and he jerks back to full awareness, feeling a twinge in his back from where he was leaning against the unforgiving surface of a chunk of wreckage. “Huh?” he looks up, regarding Daesung’s tired expression.

 

“Your turn.” Daesung’s voice is raspy with lack of water and sleep, but he has enough energy to smile tiredly and offer a hand to help Seungri to his feet.

 

“Alright. How… how is he?” Seungri hesitates to ask for a moment, because he knows the answer won’t be good, but he feels like he should know.

 

Daesung purses his lips briefly, bangs falling over his eyes. “You’d have to ask Youngbae for the details,” he says after a moment, evasive. “But… it’s not good.”

 

It was no better than what he expected, but Seungri has to swallow hard to find his voice past the tightness in his throat, awkwardly rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah,” he manages. “That’s what I thought.”

 

He heads across the beach to their ramshackle shelter, pauses outside the entrance. He knows this is a necessary thing; in addition to at least one person being on watch at the island’s shore, they had agreed that someone should stay with Jiyong at all times, just in case. Usually it was an uneventful few hours—all Jiyong did was sleep for the most part, occasionally waking from a fitful sleep to ask for water. He had been in and out of a feverish unconsciousness for nearly three days now, barely lucid. Sometimes he didn’t recognize the others, and that frightened Seungri more than he cared to admit.

 

Part of him wanted to insist it was the seemingly high doses of whatever opioid painkiller Youngbae had salvaged from the med kit (it seemed like a lot for someone Jiyong’s size), but the rational part of him knew that wasn’t entirely true.

 

Seungri lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before ducking down to enter the relative shade of the makeshift shelter. It’s a few degrees cooler inside thanks to the shade, and he’s grateful for it, but he grimaces upon seeing the sheen of sweat on Jiyong’s skin, the pink flush high on his cheeks, half-lidded eyes bright with fever.

 

Jiyong doesn’t so much as twitch when Seungri comes in. The raspy rhythm of his breathing is shallow but steady, but it sounds labored, painful. Seungri is the furthest thing from a doctor, but he doesn’t like the way Jiyong wheezes when he tries to take a deep breath, the way his expression contorts with pain when he has to cough.

 

A cold trickle of dread (or maybe sweat) drips down Seungri’s spine, and not for the first time today he finds his chest tight with anxiety. “Morning, _hyung_ ,” he says softly, even though he has no idea what time it is. “Daesung’s busy, so I’m gonna stay with you for a while, okay?” He’s talking mostly to fill the void of silence, hardly expecting an answer.

 

To his surprise, Jiyong makes an effort to focus on him, and there’s no doubt that he recognizes Seungri. He smiles weakly, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. “Ri… Just the man I wanted to see,” he rasps. “’S’good… that you’re here.”

 

Seungri feels a measure of relief just to know that Jiyong recognizes him, and some of the tension relaxes from his aching shoulders. “Good to see you too, _hyung_ ,” he says with a genuine smile. Maybe this meant the fever was breaking? He hardly dared to hope. “Did you want to talk about something?” (Seungri knows it probably isn’t a good idea—Jiyong is supposed to be resting, not making conversation—but he can’t help himself. Days of tense silence have frayed his nerves, and something vaguely resembling normalcy is something he just can’t pass up.)

 

“Yeah,” Jiyong says after a moment, reaching up to run his fingers through his sweat-damp bangs. Already he looks tired, but he has that look in his eyes that tells Seungri he’s determined to do whatever it is he feels needs to be done. “Any luck finding a boat, a plane, whatever…?”

 

Seungri bites the inside of his cheek for a moment. “No,” he admits, almost guiltily.

 

“S’what I thought,” Jiyong says with his eyes closed. When he opens them again, he’s looking at Seungri with a sharp lucidity that wasn’t there before. Seungri has seen that look before; the sharp, determined look that always precedes something solemn. But underneath that determination Seungri can sense something else, something he sees in the tension of Jiyong’s muscles and the way his fingers flex restlessly, picking at his cuticles until they bleed.

 

Jiyong is scared.

 

Such a thing happens so rarely that Seungri is disturbed just at the realization, and he swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. “What’s wrong, _hyung_?” He hopes Jiyong doesn’t notice the quaver in his voice.

 

Jiyong smiles, but it’s hollow, never reaching his eyes. “You know what you have to do now, Seunghyun,” he says quietly, staring up at the ceiling. “Don’t you?”

 

Dread twists Seungri’s gut, and he has to hold back the inexplicable tears suddenly pricking at his eyes. He blinks rapidly, forcing his emotions down. “What do you mean?” he asks. The use of his full name doesn’t go unnoticed, and it only makes him more nervous.

 

Jiyong’s smile is tired, sad. He reaches out to grasp Seungri’s hand, and his touch is unnervingly cold. “You know,” he says, eyes suddenly solemn. “You have to be leader now, Seungri. Look after them.”

 

The words are like a punch to the gut, and the full weight of what Jiyong is implying hits Seungri like a brick. “ _Hyung_ , don’t talk like that,” he begs, voice cracking. “You’re going to be fine. We’re all going to be _fine_. Once we go home…”

 

“You and I both know I won’t last that long,” Jiyong interrupts sharply, but beneath the veneer of his brave façade, Seungri can hear the quiver in his voice. He’s scared, terrified, because who the hell wouldn’t be?

 

For the first time in a long time, Seungri has no idea what to say, nor what to do. He feels like a trainee again, small and scared and very, very lost. “I can’t,” he whispers finally. “I can’t do what you do… for them.”

 

Jiyong takes in a shaky deep breath that ends in a painful, wet cough that stains his lips scarlet. “You already have,” he says between shallow, labored breaths, smiling with red-glistening lips. “Just… just promise me something, okay?” His eyes are starting to get hazy again, and Seungri knows Jiyong has exhausted what little strength he has.

 

Seungri couldn’t have said no, not for the world. “Anything.”

 

“Make sure you guys get home,” Jiyong pleads, clutching at Seungri’s hand with the last of his waning strength. “Stay together. For me.”

 

Seungri gently squeezes the cold hand in his grasp, lacing thin fingers through his own. “Promise, _hyung._ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied; there's going to be three chapters.

 It’s late morning the next day, with the simmering heat and humidity already climbing to uncomfortable heights, when Daesung comes running out of the jungle, screaming not quite bloody murder but something damn close to it. All of them stare with wide eyes, sitting in what shade they can find and unable to muster the energy to give a more excitable response.

 

Daesung runs to them, dripping sweat and panting heavily as he leans over with his hands on his knees. “I found… I found…”

 

“Found what?” Seungri cuts in impatiently. It’s hot and all of them are tired, and all the hours of sitting and doing nothing have frayed his nerves.

 

“You have to see it,” Daesung manages after a moment, breathless. The desperate gleam in his eyes makes Seungri think they should trust his instincts.

 

Seungri agrees to go with him, leaving Youngbae and Seunghyun and Jiyong to watch the horizon like hawks (as they have been doing for four days, but all they need is one ship, one plane. Just one).

 

The trek is shorter than Seungri expects, but maybe that’s just because he’s losing his sense of time when everything on this island looks the same, and the backdrop of brilliant blue sky and ocean has become something like eternity.

 

Daesung stops, and there is something hopeful in his eyes when he glances from Seungri to the crumbling but unmistakably human-built structure in front of them. Seungri doesn’t know much about architecture, so he can’t guess when it was made or who might have built it, but he knows it has four (well, three and a half) walls and some semblance of a roof, and that is a godsend. He could have kissed Daesung at that moment.

 

“It’s perfect, _hyung._ ”

 

Daesung beams, a tired but inimitably real smile that lets Seungri know he hasn’t given up yet.

 

Getting the others and their meager supplies to their new shelter proves to be more of an arduous process than Seungri expects, but the dark clouds gathering on the horizon are more than enough motivation to get them moving. Their flimsy shelter on the shore likely won’t survive the night, and none of them are keen on sleeping in the rain.

 

The terrain is unfamiliar, making the going slow, and even though Jiyong insisted that he could walk, his raspy, shallow breathing is painful to listen to with every step he takes, one hand pressed gingerly over his ribs. Not once does he ask them to stop for a rest, though he is shaky and sweating by the time their journey is complete, leaning on Seunghyun for support.

 

They arrive not a moment too soon—just as soon as the five of them have gingerly settled themselves inside the crumbling structure, the first drops of rain start to fall from the sky, preceded by a low roll of thunder.

 

Seungri leans back against the cool brick wall, wiping sweat from his forehead as the rain starts to patter against the tin roof. The heat of the jungle is starting to fade into the coolness of evening and rain, though the humidity remains, a sticky heaviness in the air.

 

“We should get some rest,” Youngbae says, looking out at the grey drizzle.

 

“I’m hungry,” Daesung says, almost apologetically.

 

“So am I,” Seunghyun grunts, crossing his arms. “Let’s not start complaining now.”

 

“Shut up,” Jiyong says, his eyes already closed, half-sitting and half-lying against the wall near Seungri. “Let’s just… get some sleep, okay?” He sounds exhausted, though he’s trying hard not to let it show.

 

The others are tired, too, worn out from hunger and lack of sleep, and they acquiesce without further protest. Usually someone is chosen to keep watch during the night, but today they are too tired to bother, and Seungri doesn’t think he can keep his eyes open longer than a few minutes. Even though the inside of their crumbling shelter is dusty and the floor is uncomfortable, he is grateful just to be out of the rain, and they all feel more secure with (mostly) sturdy walls between them and the elements.

 

Seungri lets out a quiet sigh, slipping off his jacket to use the balled-up fabric as a pillow. The rain is quickly lulling him to sleep, but the cool touch of a hand against his forearm sharpens his attention again.

 

Jiyong gives a tired smile in the semidarkness. “You did good, _maknae_.”

 

~oOo~

 

It’s still mostly dark outside when Seungri awakens to the sound of rapid, shallow wheezing, a panicked sound that sends a jolt of fear through Seungri like a lightning bolt. Jiyong is halfway curled into a ball on the floor, lying on his uninjured side and clutching at his chest as he gasps for breath he can’t seem to get.

 

“ _Hyung! Hyung,_ what’s wrong?!” Seungri asks urgently, terrified but unsure of what to do. God, it’s awful to listen to, the sound of Jiyong’s breath gurgling somewhere in his chest.

 

“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” Jiyong is gasping, over and over again, sounding like he is drowning.

 

Drowning.

 

Seungri doesn’t take the time to think about it before he grabs Jiyong by the arm to help him sit upright, then slaps him hard on the back. He knows it can’t be pleasant, given Jiyong’s broken ribs, but there will be time to feel guilty about it later.

 

Jiyong tenses up and makes a sound like he’s choking, then lurches forward and coughs up an alarming amount of blood, thick dark red liquid pooling on the floor. Seungri slaps Jiyong’s back twice more, and each time he coughs up more blood, but his breathing is easier now, and he has stopped his shallow hyperventilating.

 

By now the others are awake, and they exchange mutely horrified glances in the weak predawn light. None of them knows what to say or do, so they just keep looking between Seungri and Jiyong with a mixture of fear and sympathy.

 

Jiyong leans back against the wall with a grimace, panting softly and wiping blood from his mouth with his sleeve. His lips and teeth are still stained red, and it looks almost ghoulish against his deathly pale skin. “Sorry,” he rasps after a moment.

 

They all lay back down and close their eyes, their exhausted bodies demanding recompense for an interrupted rest, but Seungri sits awake. His eyes are closed, but sleep will not come. That night he sits in the dark until dawn and silently prays to a god he doesn’t believe in, begging whoever might be listening that his brothers might be saved.

 

~oOo~

 

The sound of the stream burbling softly over the stones in its bottom is a calming one, and for a moment Seungri can almost lose himself in it as he crouches in front of the clear water, reaching down to scoop up a handful and wash his face. The water is blissfully cool in the oppressive heat and humidity, and he almost envies the little silver fish that dart past occasionally, following the flow of the stream.

 

A loud curse from nearby startles Seungri from his reverie, and he nearly topples into the stream in his haste to stand up. He hurriedly follows the sound of Seunghyun swearing, only to find their oldest member sitting on the ground, rubbing his foot. His shoe has a gash in the upper that shows off a damp argyle-patterned sock.

 

Seungri blinks, looking from Seunghyun to Youngbae, who can’t restrain a few snickers. Seungri can hardly blame him; they were all taking humor where they could find it.

 

“ _Hyung_ , are you okay?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, not so much concerned for Seunghyun’s safety as he is suspicious that Seunghyun was acting like a giant child.

 

“I tripped over something and tore my damn shoe,” Seunghyun grumbles. “Thought I broke my damn toe at first.”

 

“Over what?” Seungri frowns. The tree roots aren’t big enough here to trip anyone, and he doubts Seunghyun managed to stumble across some animal’s den.

 

“We don’t know,” Youngbae says, tapping his foot against the solid object with one corner sticking a few inches out of the ground. “But there’s something buried in the ground here.”

 

“Buried?” Seungri crouches next to the rusty metal, inspecting the rusted edge that tore Seunghyun’s shoe. Curious, he raps it with his knuckles, and his eyes go wide at the resounding hollow thud. “There’s something inside it.”

 

Youngbae helps Seungri clear away some of the loose dirt around the object, which is revealed to be a metal container of some sort, rectangular and slightly dented. They can’t dig it out with their bare hands, though, and Seunghyun goes to find some kind of tool to speed up the job, even if it’s just a branch.

 

Seungri tries to wriggle the box free from its earthen prison while they wait, but to no avail. He instead settles for wiping away the crusted earth from the handles, and his eyes go wide when he sees what’s underneath.

 

The characters are faded and very old, but readable: R.O.K. ARMED FORCES.

 

“Military,” Youngbae breathes, eyes wide. “This place was a military outpost!”

 

Seungri looks excitedly from the box to Youngbae, feeling nascent hope flutter its wings in his chest like a trapped bird. “And they must have buried supplies here!”

 

The two of them can’t help but laugh, near the point of tears just to have a bit of good luck at last. Seunghyun returns shortly with a sturdy branch to help dig the box out the rest of the way, and by the time the task is done, all of them are dripping sweat, but they hardly notice.

 

The container must weigh fifty pounds, and when Youngbae cracks open the latch, inside they find a veritable gold mine. There are canned foods, medical supplies, lanterns, flares, rifles and ammunition, and even spare linens. Most of the blankets are moth-eaten, the leather shoes cracked and falling apart, but some of them are salvageable. They aren’t sure about the state of the weaponry and ammunition after sixty years, but just having them around is useful.

 

The cache of medicine is the most important find, though. There are clean bandages, antiseptic, antibiotics, and painkillers, enough for several people. It's a stroke of good luck none of them had dared to hope for.

 

Seungri feels energetic with the morale boost despite having just dug a three-foot hole in the ground. “Help me, will you?”

 

The chest is heavy, but between the three of them it doesn’t take long to haul the supplies back to their new home base. Daesung perks up upon seeing them, eyebrows disappearing under his bangs in surprise when he sees the bulky chest carried between them.

 

“Buried treasure?” Daesung quips.

 

“You could say that,” Seungri grins.

 

Daesung takes great interest in the box’s contents, and his knowledge of history comes in very handy. “Wow, I never thought I’d see anything like this,” he said as he rifled through the box’s contents, awed. “This is from the Korean War era, but most of it is probably American-made. Quality stuff.”

 

“What makes you say that?” Youngbae asks, curious.

 

“Well, the fact that it’s here, for one thing,” Daesung says. “In that era, we couldn’t have manufactured this stuff even if we tried.” He carefully takes out one of the glass vials of morphine and examines it. “See? It’s marked in English.”

 

“You guys went exploring without me?” Jiyong remarks lightly, standing in the doorway of the shelter in what is meant to look like a relaxed pose.

 

Jiyong is masterful at putting up a façade, but Seungri knows him well enough to see through it. He sees the tense, pained way Jiyong holds himself, the sweat beading on his brow and the way his skin is pale with blood loss and pain. It worries Seungri, but he says nothing for the moment, unable to bring himself to dampen the mood.

 

“Seunghyun literally tripped over it,” Youngbae chuckles. “Otherwise we never would have noticed.”

 

Jiyong laughs, more subdued than usual, but just to see him smile helps to brighten the other members’ spirits.

 

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, their fortunes seem to be looking up.

 

~oOo~

 

Later that night, Youngbae is able to properly disinfect and then suture the wound in Jiyong’s side, a process greatly eased with a shot of painkillers. Youngbae’s hands are steady, and Jiyong merely lies there with his eyes half-closed, pliant and sleepy with the effects of morphine. It’s nothing like the first time he had to do this, and for that all of them are overwhelmingly grateful.

 

Seungri can’t help but watch the process, fascinated despite the fact that watching the needle pierce Jiyong’s ragged flesh makes him slightly nauseous, as does the flash of white bone visible when Jiyong takes a deep breath. It's grotesque, but Seungri feels like he couldn’t look away, and he is relieved when the once gaping and bloody wound is neatly stitched closed and bandaged.

 

Daesung said that the effectiveness of some of the medicines may have diminished in the six decades they had lain unused, but it hardly matters now—it’s better than nothing, at least.

 

The medicine seems to be somewhat effective. Seungri has not seen Jiyong so relaxed since before this whole disaster, and that is a relief in and of itself. He is quiet and subdued, but his eyes are sleepy and docile, his expression no longer drawn with pain.

 

“You’re a miracle worker, _hyung_ ,” Seungri tells Youngbae earnestly.

 

Youngbae smiles wide enough that his eyes were shaped like crescent moons, a smile that reminds Seungri of the aptness of his stage name. “I do my best,” he says modestly. “But really, it’s thanks to Seunghyun that we found this stuff.”

 

Seunghyun has been very quiet for most of the day, biting his lower lip nearly until it bleeds and tapping his fingers anxiously against his leg.

 

“What’s wrong, _hyung_?” Daesung prods gently, hoping to get Seunghyun out of his own head for a bit.

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Seunghyun says after a long pause, though his eyes were distant, and he didn’t seem entirely ‘there.’

 

Youngbae’s expression is solemn. “Are you thinking of home?”

 

After another pause, a nod, and silence falls over the group.

 

Finally, it is Seunghyun who breaks the spell. “I… I wonder if my family thinks I’m still alive.”

 

Seunghyun’s voice cracks near the end of the sentence, and something painful jerks at Seungri’s heart, makes his throat tighten up. He hasn’t had much time to think about what might be happening back home—of what their families might be thinking, of the rumors that must be all over the news, and it hurts. He wonders how his mother must be feeling right now, thinking that her son is dead…

 

“Of course they know we’re still alive,” Seungri says suddenly, with a conviction that doesn’t match the hollow feeling in his chest. “It hasn’t been that long since we went missing, so they must be searching everywhere for us. It’s only a matter of time until they come here.”

 

“We don’t even know where ‘here’ is,” Daesung says quietly. “We could be near China for all we know. Or Japan.”

 

“We can’t be that far,” Youngbae insists. “This place was a Korean military outpost at one point, so it has to be close to the mainland.”

 

“You shouldn’t waste your energy on worrying so much.” Jiyong’s voice is quiet but firm, and Seungri sees in him a familiar spark, one he worried had gone out. “It’s useless to worry about what other people are thinking. We have to focus on what we can do here and now.”

 

“What if they can’t find us?” Daesung voices the lurking fear, the one that no one wants to speak aloud. “What if they stop looking?”

 

The answer stretches before them in the silence that follows.

 

~oOo~

 

Seungri is hesitant to pick up the rifle at first. He knows it’s just an object; it won’t do anything unless he wants it to, but still he regards the weapon like it’s a snake that could bite at any second. After a moment he picks it up, somewhat surprised by its weight. It is heavy, solid wood and metal, and even though it’s practically an antique, it still looks and feels dangerous. Seungri has never so much as touched a gun before, but in the near future, it might become very useful if they want to eat more than fruit and tinned rations.

 

Standing a few paces outside the back wall of the shelter, he hefts the gun up so the stock rests against his shoulder, looking down the sight like he’s seen people do in movies. The position doesn’t feel quite natural, but he chalks it up to inexperience.

 

The foliage rustles to Seungri’s left, and he stiffens in surprise, turning towards the noise on instinct.

 

Daesung emerges from beyond a screen of leafy plants, and his eyes go wide when he sees Seungri holding the rifle. “Hey, be careful with that!” he says sharply, and Seungri immediately lowers the rifle, spooked.

 

“Er, sorry, _hyung,_ ” he says, a bit embarrassed to be caught fumbling with something he has no idea how to use.

 

Daesung jogs over and takes the rifle from Seungri’s hands, inspecting it briefly. “You shouldn’t play with things like this,” he chides. “It’s dangerous.”

 

“I know, I know,” Seungri says, abashed, feeling like a scolded child. “I was just… curious, you know? And maybe we could use it if we wanted to get some meat for dinner.” His stomach has never been quite satisfied with just the fruit and nuts they could scavenge from the jungle, and hunger is always nagging insistently at him for something more substantial.

 

Daesung lets out a soft chuckle, looking fondly at Seungri. “It’s a nice thought,” he admits. “But I’m not sure if this thing will even fire. It’s old, and probably needs some work.”

 

He has a point there, Seungri is forced to admit, doing his best to not feel disappointed that the possibility of meat was now slim to none. But there is something else that draws his interest as he watches Daesung handle the rifle, examining its parts and working mechanisms that are a mystery to Seungri. “How do you know all this, _hyung_?”

 

Daesung pulls the bolt with a click, making sure there are no rounds in the chamber before he holds it up to his shoulder and looks down the sight, testing the feel. “My dad taught me to use a gun when I was young,” he says after a pause. “He brought me to the base he served on when he was in the military sometimes. Said he wanted me to be familiar with it, in case I ever needed it.”

 

Seungri is vaguely surprised. He never associated quiet, gentle Daesung with this type of knowledge. “I guess it’s a good thing you know it now,” he says with a small smile.

 

“I suppose,” Daesung agrees. He pauses a moment, then holds the rifle out to Seungri. “I can teach you, if you want.”

 

Suddenly Seungri feels less certain of his abilities, his previous confidence evaporating. “M-maybe not, _hyung,_ I don’t really know anything about—“

 

“No, I think you had a good idea,” Daesung says encouragingly, and his eyes are gentle when he smiles. “Don’t worry; it’s not as scary as it seems at first.”

 

Daesung retrieves a box of ammunition from the trunk inside, then leads Seungri to the base of a grassy hill about fifteen minutes’ walk from their base camp. The island isn’t very big, but it has a variety of terrain, and objectively it’s quite scenic. They sit in the grass and talk about nothing for the first half hour while Daesung meticulously takes apart the gun’s mechanisms and checks them for damage, lubricating the parts with a bit of oil squeezed from coconut flesh. He puts it back together with dizzying dexterity, while Seungri watches wondrously.

 

“Well, it looks alright as far as I can tell,” Daesung says, and for some reason Seungri is nervous. He loads the clip and inserts it with a metallic click before planting his feet solidly and taking aim. “Here goes nothing. Oh, you might want to cover your ears.”

 

Seungri puts his fingers in his ears and nods to Daesung, who flicks the safety off and takes a deep breath.

 

The shot is loud, much louder than Seungri expects, and the force of it is painful even with his ears covered. The recoil jerks Daesung’s arm, but otherwise he doesn’t seem at all fazed. In fact, he seems jubilant, grinning and giving Seungri a thumbs-up as he slings the rifle over his shoulder.

 

Now that the shock of actually hearing the thing shoot has worn off a bit, Seungri is elated. “ _Hyung,_ you’re amazing!”

 

Daesung laughs. “That was nothing. I wasn’t even aiming for anything. But we’ll get to that later. Now it’s your turn.”

 

Daesung shows Seungri how to load the clip and properly insert it into the rifle, how to properly aim, and how to hold the weapon so that his shoulder absorbs the recoil.

 

“Plant your feet, and keep your stance solid,” Daesung instructs. “This thing’s got a bit of a kick to it.”

 

Seungri adjusts his grip on the rifle and settles into his stance, swallowing hard. “Ok. What now?”

 

“Now you aim at something and pull the trigger.”

 

Seungri takes a deep breath to steady his nerves and his hands, lining up the sight with a slender sapling about twenty yards away growing on the base of the hill. The recoil takes him off guard when he pulls the trigger, enough to make him stumble back a step. The shot goes wide, missing the tree entirely but instead hitting a fat ripe fruit hanging from a different tree, causing it to explode in a shower of juice.

 

Seungri blinks, ears still ringing from the shot, and he and Daesung exchange glances.

 

There is silence for maybe half a second before both of them burst into laughter, practically howling over the exploded fruit. It was a small thing, unexpected, but somehow uproariously funny in the context of the situation. It feels good to laugh again, even over something that shouldn’t have been that funny, to feel joy again. For a few minutes while Seungri horses around with Daesung, both of them exaggeratedly reminiscing the fruit’s explosion, everything feels like something close to normal again.

 

The two of them laugh until there are tears in their eyes, and even when their stomachs hurt from laughing, they still burst into fits of giggles just from making eye contact. Seungri sits down next to Daesung on the grassy hill, leaning against his shoulder affectionately. “Thanks, _hyung_ ,” he says genuinely. “For this. For everything.”

 

Daesung smiles like the sun and puts an arm around Seungri’s shoulders. “That’s what _hyung_ is here for.”

 

~oOo~

 

The five of them had mutually agreed that they should all be back at the shelter by sunset; going out after dark seemed too much like tempting fate. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon when Seungri and Daesung return from their little adventure, and seeing their exhausted bandmates already sprawled out on the floor remind them of their own weary bodies.

 

“Just like old times, right, _hyung_?” Seungri remarks as he lays down between Seunghyun and Jiyong.

 

“I can’t say I ever missed sleeping on the practice room floor,” Seunghyun grunts, shifting uncomfortably. “But now? I think I’d prefer it.”

 

“At least there would be fewer mosquitoes,” Jiyong snorts.

 

“ _Hyung_ , don’t talk about bugs,” Daesung whines. “I don’t want to think about that right before I go to sleep.”

 

“What are you afraid of, Daesungie?” Seunghyun asks, quirking an eyebrow. “That a centipede will crawl into your pant leg?”

 

A loud, low rumble from the distant sky drowns out Daesung’s response, the sound getting progressively louder with each second. It’s the deafening roar of something breaking the sound barrier, something big.

 

Seungri is on his feet in an instant, dashing outside the shelter just in time to see a sleek silver plane whoosh past overhead, its outline just visible through the gaps in the canopy of trees.

 

He shouts for the others even if they can barely hear him over the roar of the plane zooming by, stumbling in the dusky half-light. “It’s a plane!” he calls out helplessly, the exhilaration already fading as the roar fades away.

 

In the time it takes the five of them to get to a place where they can see the sky clearly, the aircraft is long gone, and the sky is empty.

 

“There’s no way it could have seen us,” Youngbae says resignedly. “It was going way too fast, and it couldn’t have landed here anyway.”

 

“That was a Korean fighter plane,” Daesung says, eyes still scanning the horizon. “It’s a good sign. Where there’s one, there’s probably more.”

 

“You think we could get their attention?” Seungri tries, hopeful.

 

“With a big enough bang, I think we could do it.”

 

“So what’s your plan?” Seunghyun asks impatiently.

 

Daesung glances over his shoulder towards their shelter. “How many of those flares do we have?”

 

~oOo~

  

Daesung’s plan turns out to be less exciting than anticipated. It involves a lot of waiting, which makes Seungri ever more restless, impatient to do _something_ , but right now there is nothing to be done except wait. He’s sitting on the shore in the shade of a palm tree, watching the horizon where the glittering blue water meets cloudless cerulean sky. It would be beautiful under any other circumstances, but at the moment Seungri would have given anything to be back in a cramped apartment in Seoul with his bandmates.

 

Three of them had agreed to rotate shifts for keeping watch on the shore, just in case a boat or a plane came by. Daesung and Seunghyun were headed to the highest point on the tiny island to set up the flares, so that they would be as visible as possible, but such a journey will likely take several hours, so there is still time to kill.

 

When the time came, Daesung said, at the first sighting of a ship or plane, the person on watch would relay the message to those at the shelter, where they would fire off a shot from the rifle to signal to Daesung and Seunghyun to set off the flares. There would be no time to waste, and the timing would have to be perfect so rescuers could pinpoint their location.

 

Just thinking about it makes Seungri a bit anxious, and his foot taps restlessly against the sand.

 

He watched his fifth sunrise this morning. That means they have been here nearly a week, even though it feels like an eternity. Perhaps it is the isolation, the emptiness of this place that makes it feel just a bit maddening. Or maybe it’s the constant, gnawing hunger that is never quite satisfied with fruits and nuts. Seungri can’t remember the last time he had something substantial to eat, but he tries hard not to think too much about food. Instead he tries to shut it out, to ignore how his shaky his hands are and how dizzy he feels when he stands up. Just another hour, he tells himself, every hour. He can pass the time like that all day if he needs to.

 

Seungri rubs at his eyes, forced to take a break from staring at the blindingly bright ocean and the sun refracted in dazzling rays from its surface. He can’t look at it for too long or everything starts to look like the same smear of brilliant blue. He stares down at his shoes for a change of scenery—a pair of white Adidas now mostly ruined thanks to saltwater and mud and sharp rocks.

 

There’s a split in the toe of his right shoe, he notices. Huh. No wonder his right foot is always damp. Everything is slightly damp after the recent rains, the sand clumpy and the foliage heavy with moisture. Their signal fire is hopelessly soaked, the wreckage of the plane now waterlogged as well as charred and burnt. The heat is merciless, though, and the moisture of the recent storms only serves to make the humidity hang heavy in the air.

 

He shivers despite the heat of midday, leaning back against the rough bark of the palm tree and closing his eyes for a moment. Daesung’s words from days before echo through his mind. _What happens if they don’t find us?_

 

“I don’t know,” Seungri finds himself thinking aloud.

 

Not knowing is frightening.

 

What he does know is that their time is running out. The search won’t last forever, the media hype will die down, and eventually they will be presumed dead. If that happens, then their chances of ever leaving this godforsaken place will be slim to none, and Seungri knows that none of them have the skills to survive here indefinitely. And without proper medical treatment, Jiyong will be the first one they lose.

 

Seungri doesn’t think he can handle watching his friends die.

 

So when he sees that speck on the horizon, his heart leaps into his throat.

 

He scrambles to his feet, hardly daring to breathe as he strains to focus on the distant object. Running to the water’s edge for a better look, Seungri hardly notices the surf lapping at his ankles, soaking the cuffs of his torn and dirty jeans. It’s far away, but it’s there: a ship.

 

_A ship._ “A ship!” he shouts to no one, punching the air in a mixture of excitement and desperate anxiety.

 

He takes off like a shot into the jungle, crashing through the foliage with all the grace of an elephant in his haste to alert the others. Daesung and Seunghyun have to have made it to the top of that hill by now, right? They must be waiting on the signal.

 

He nearly runs directly into Youngbae in his blind determination to reach the shelter, stumbling to an ungraceful halt and trying to get air into his searing lungs. He’s soaked in sweat from the mad sprint, and black spots flash dizzily in front of his eyes from lack of both oxygen and food.

 

“Seungri?” Youngbae drops the firewood he had been collecting, suddenly tense. “What is it?”

 

Seungri has to take a few seconds and breathe before he can speak, but the first word out of his mouth is, breathlessly, “Ship.”

 

“A ship? You saw a ship?” Youngbae’s voice rises with excitement, and his eyes are wide. “Are you sure?”

 

Seungri wants to scream at him that of course he’s damn well sure; he wouldn’t have run all the way here like the hounds of hell were at his heels if he wasn’t absolutely sure, but his throat is raw, and even breathing sort of hurts at the moment. He can only nod frantically, and Youngbae runs inside to get the rifle.

 

“You do know how to use this thing, right?” Youngbae asks anxiously.

 

“Of course I do,” Seungri says impatiently as he jams the clip into the gun, hands shaking with a combination of adrenaline and exhaustion. He pulls the bolt back like Daesung showed him, to load a round into the chamber, but it won’t move.

 

Seungri swears under his breath and jiggles the bolt desperately. _All I need is one shot,_ he pleads silently with the universe. _Just one, dammit!_

 

The mechanism finally cooperates, with an odd noise that Seungri doesn’t remember happening the first few times, but he doesn’t have time to think about that now. He takes aim at a nondescript point in the sky and pulls the trigger.

 

_Click._ Nothing.

 

“Damn it!” Seungri curses helplessly, his voice raw. The gun is jammed, and there is no time to fix it.

 

Youngbae looks from the gun to Seungri. “Stay here,” he says. “I’ll go and tell them myself. We’ll set off the flares, and meet you on the shore.”

 

“ _Hyung_ , are you sure you know the way?”

 

“I’ll find them,” Youngbae promises, clasping Seungri’s shoulder momentarily, and then he is gone before Seungri can say anything more.

 

Again, Seungri is hyperaware of the fact that time is running out.

 

Abandoning the rifle, Seungri ducks into the shelter, looking around for Jiyong. “ _Hyung?”_

 

“Here,” Jiyong says hoarsely from a shadowed corner to the left, waving briefly. He’s sitting against the wall with his knees pulled up in front of him, one arm laid gingerly across his ribs.

 

“We’ve got to go, _hyung,_ ” Seungri says urgently, kneeling next to the leader. “We have to get to the shore so we can see the ship.”

 

“The ship,” Jiyong repeats, the meaning obviously not sinking in.

 

Seungri is confused momentarily, but as he takes a closer look at Jiyong he realizes something is very wrong. Jiyong’s skin is pale and sweat-damp, raging with fever so hot Seungri can feel heat radiating from him.

 

The maknae’s heart drops, dread tightening his chest. “I need you to focus on me, ok?” he says, taking one of Jiyong’s clammy hands in his own. “We’ve got to get to the shore. We’re getting out of here.” Seungri can’t help it; his voice cracks a bit when he says, “We’re going _home._ ”

 

That brings some of the lucidity back to Jiyong’s eyes, and he looks—really looks—at Seungri, real hope and fear in his eyes. “I can’t,” he rasps. “I can’t move, ‘Ri. God, it hurts, and I just can’t—“

 

“I know, _hyung,_ I know,” Seungri says soothingly, already sliding Jiyong’s arm around his shoulders. “But I’m not going to leave you behind. It’s not far, and I’m going to get you there, even if I have to carry you.”

 

Seungri has to support most of Jiyong’s weight, the leader leaning heavily on him as they leave the confines of the shelter. Jiyong’s breathing is shallow and raspy, and it’s clear that every step is painful for him.

 

“Don’t worry, _hyung,_ ” Seungri pants, his muscles already burning from exertion, though he steadfastly ignores it. “I’ve got you.”

 

There is the distant, high-pitched whistle of fireworks shooting into the air, perhaps half a dozen of them, leaving trails of gray smoke and red sparks in their wake. The flares sputter and smoke more than they spark, but that is the signal, and Seungri hopes that the mess of smoke in the air is enough to alert the ship.

 

When the flares fall back to earth, spent, their dying sparks set off another of the island’s ancient secrets. Seungri has no frame of reference to identify the sound of a land mine going off, or of a munitions stockpile catching fire, but he doesn’t need to. The resultant deafening explosion is enough to shake the very air, and the volatile wildfire roars forth like a ravaging beast, burning bright and hot.

 

It seems to give chase to anything and everything it touches, consuming so rapidly that it grows into something gargantuan and terrifying. Its rage is incandescent, and Seungri can feel the heat lapping at his back even as he and Jiyong scramble to outrun it. The thick black smoke, acrid like gunpowder, makes their eyes water and their throats burn, but Seungri doggedly pushes on.

 

Just another few steps, he tells himself, again and again. When Jiyong can go no further, barely able to breathe, Seungri doesn’t think twice. He lets Jiyong cling to his back and carries his _hyung_ with single-minded determination, focused on the singular goal of survival.

 

Jiyong doesn’t weigh much, but Seungri’s body is at its limit. Exhausted, starved, dehydrated, he collapses the moment they reach the shore, sending both him and Jiyong tumbling into the sand. The both of them can only lie there for a moment, gasping and coughing.

 

Seungri struggles to remain conscious, blackness swirling at the edges of his vision as he drags breath after painful breath of air into his lungs. He rolls over onto his back, boneless with exhaustion but with enough presence of mind to know that his task is not yet finished.

 

The sky has clouded over, but he barely notices, desperately scanning the horizon for the ship he saw earlier. Hope blooms in his chest when he sees the grey dot, far off in the water, still steaming forth on its original course. It will come for them--he knows it will. Won’t it?

 

“ _Hyung!_ ” Seungri turns his attention back to Jiyong, desperate. “See that?” He lets out a hoarse laugh that is half a sob. “Almost there.”

 

Jiyong doesn’t reply at first, taking in shallow, painful gasps of breath. He’s lying on his back in the sand, clutching at his side, where a new patch of scarlet has soaked through his already bloodstained shirt. The stitches in his wound have torn out, and he’s bleeding badly once again.

 

Despite this, he manages a weak smile. “You did… you did good, _maknae_ ,” he rasps, and chokes on his next breath, lips stained with blood.

 

Seeing the pallor of Jiyong’s skin and the blood soaking his shirt, Seungri suddenly becomes aware that there is nothing he can do now. He’s pulled out all his tricks, everything he can do has been done, and still it isn’t enough. He sits up, dragging Jiyong halfway into his lap to stop him from choking on his own blood.

 

“Stay with me _, hyung,_ ” he pleads, helpless to do anything else. “We’re going home, remember?”

 

Jiyong’s dark eyes are losing their focus, but he makes an effort to look at Seungri. His voice comes out in barely a whisper when he says, “I’m scared.”

 

“Me too,” Seungri whispers. He twines his fingers with Jiyong’s own, slick with blood, as though he could somehow anchor them both here, in this moment.

 

Jiyong’s breathing is a wheezy, awful rattle in his chest now, the sound of him slowly drowning in his own blood as his lungs fill with fluid. Seungri feels faint, a tinny ringing in his ears as he starts to feel light and woozy. This time he doesn’t fight the dizzying blackness threatening to overtake his vision, even as he hears the roar of an engine and the sound of helicopter blades churning in the sky overhead.


	3. Chapter 3

Seungri wakes up in a white room with the lights dimmed, mind and body still heavy with sleep, thoughts hazy. He blinks, looking down at the blanket tucked around his body and the IV tubes taped into the back of his hand and the bend of his elbow. He’s lying in bed, Seungri notes with surprise, and it takes his sleep-addled mind a few seconds to put two and two together.

 

He sits up, startled, and immediately regrets it, letting out a hiss of pain at the protest of every muscle in his body.

 

“Hey, take it easy,” a nurse says soothingly, hurrying over to encourage him to lie flat again. She has a noticeable Jeju accent. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

 

Seungri swallows, trying to lubricate his dry throat. “Tired,” he says after a moment, hoarsely.

 

The nurse checks the IV lines in Seungri’s arm, nodding as she takes his vitals. “No kidding,” she remarks. “You had a rough time out there.”

 

“My friends,” Seungri says, suddenly anxious. “Where…?” He happens to glance to the left and sees the other four beds where his _hyungs_ appear to be sleeping peacefully. The relief is so potent that Seungri lets out a noise that is partially a laugh and partially a sob, tears springing to his eyes unbidden.

 

“Shh, it’s alright. Your friends are doing just fine,” the nurse says in a soft, motherly voice, handing him a tissue. She’s probably a bit older than his mother, Seungri thinks, but the sentiment is the same, and he appreciates it.

 

He doesn't have the words to say that his tears are out of happiness rather than sadness, overwhelmingly relieved that their nightmare is over. They are safe. They’re going home.

 

Seungri sniffles and wipes his eyes, trying to get his emotions under control. “A-are they gonna be okay?”

 

“I’m really not supposed to give details,” the nurse begins, apologetic.

 

“Please,” Seungri cuts in. “They’re my brothers.”

 

The nurse’s expression softens. “We had a couple close calls, but they’re all going to be fine,” she says gently. She glances at Jiyong, who is sleeping soundly in the bed next to Seungri’s, looking small and fragile with all the various IV lines in his arms. “That one there, he’s a fighter. Two broken ribs, a punctured lung, and losing that much blood… It’s a miracle he made it through surgery. But he wouldn’t give up.”

 

Seungri smiles. That’s Jiyong for sure, stubborn as hell and unwilling to let anything get the best of him.

 

“The other three weren’t nearly as bad off,” the nurse continues. “A few minor burns, but mostly just dehydration and malnutrition.”

 

“Thank you,” Seungri manages, his voice thick with emotion. He’s tired despite having done nothing but hold a conversation, everything aching.

 

“Get some rest now, alright?” the nurse says softly. “They’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

For the first time Seungri notices that the clock in the room reads four-thirty in the morning—not an unreasonable time to go back to sleep. The window on the far wall has the blinds mostly drawn, but the pale grey light of predawn is just starting to seep through the spaces in the blind. He doesn’t know how many days it’s been—he’s lost count of the sunrises—but he’s never been so happy not to know.

 

~oOo~

 

Seungri is shocked to learn that they have been in the hospital for four days now. He’s surprised to have lost such a large chunk of time, but the nurse (Heeyoung is her name, Seungri learns) tells him that’s normal. The combination of all the stress put on his body and the pain medication made sure he slept through most of it. And that’s likely for the best—Seungri thinks he might have gone stir-crazy lying in bed for four days.

 

Heeyoung says the five of them will probably be kept for a few more days for observation, but there’s not a whole lot more they can do. The five of them are malnourished and probably need to gain back some weight, but that will take time. Jiyong is recovering well from surgery, and his biggest problem is being bored. None of them have their phones or anything like that, so they have to get creative.

 

Seungri has to admit he’s never been so happy to argue with four other people about what to watch on the TV. Not that there’s much on, but Daesung prefers the cooking shows, which Seunghyun complains about because he thinks it’s boring. Youngbae and Jiyong would rather watch a drama, and Seungri sort of agrees with them, but he ends up siding with Daesung because he doesn’t think he can stand another episode of _Endless Love: Winter Sonata._

 

Besides, waiting a bit longer will give the media hype time to die down a little before they have to go back to Seoul. A perfectly valid reason to remain cloistered in a hospital in rural Jeju, out of reach of the media.

 

Seunghyun has the remote, and he’s flipping through channels, scrolling past variety shows and home shopping networks. He stops on the KBS news channel, gesturing towards the screen. “Hey, we’re on TV again.”

 

The broadcaster is reading off the details from a notecard. _“Last week all five members of the world-famous boy band Big Bang were rescued by a patrolling military ship. The group had been missing for five days following the disappearance of a small private aircraft over the Yellow Sea. We do not yet have reports on the members’ conditions, only that they are being treated at an unnamed hospital in Jeju…”_

 

“I guess news travels fast,” Daesung remarks aloud.

 

“It’s going to be a media circus when we get out of here,” Jiyong grimaces.

 

“Not if we keep a low profile,” Seungri says. “I think we can pull it off.”

 

“How _are_ we getting out of here, anyway?” Youngbae wonders. “We’ve got no phones, wallets, passports, anything.”  


“…that’s a good question,” Jiyong admits. “We need to make some calls.”

 

Later on, Seungri ends up being the one to make those calls, since Jiyong is supposed to be resting as much as possible before they are released. Seungri muses that it’s a good thing he has YG’s number memorized as he dials the number into the corded phone at the nurses’ station, waiting a bit nervously for someone to pick up.

 

Yang Hyunsuk is overwhelmingly relieved to hear from them at last, brushing off Seungri’s apologies about not calling sooner. It’s the most flustered he’s ever heard the company president, whom Seungri had doubted was capable of showing more emotion than a plank of wood previously. Seungri explains their situation, that they have no phones, passports, or anything, but YG assures him it won’t be a problem. He books their plane tickets right then and there, on a flight leaving in two days, and emails Seungri the information to print their boarding passes.

 

Seungri makes one more call afterwards, discreetly. He dials his mother’s phone number, the one he’s had memorized since he was a child, and holds his breath as he waits for her to pick up. The conversation goes just about as expected, his mother bursting into happy tears just to hear his voice. Hearing her get emotional makes Seungri feel like he might start crying himself, and he tells her he’s sorry and that he loves her more than once before he has to hang up. He promises her that he’ll be home soon, even if he can’t say where he’s at now. (He really can’t—he doesn’t know, besides the vague descriptor ‘a hospital in Jeju.’)

 

Feeling emotionally exhausted but relieved, Seungri tells his mother he loves her one last time before hanging up. Now it’s time to prepare to face the real world again.

 

~oOo~

 

When the day comes, leaving the hospital proves to be a bit trickier than anticipated. The doctor agrees to release them, on the condition that they do nothing strenuous for at least a couple weeks, and follow a more nutritious diet to gain some weight back. However, the logistics of actually leaving are what trip them up.

 

Seungri realizes only then that the five of them have—literally—nothing to wear. Their clothes are irreparably ruined, and in a place like rural Jeju, there is no place within twenty miles to go shopping (even if any of them had money or credit cards with them). Fortunately, though, Heeyoung and the other nurses are resourceful. They bring up a bin of clothes that had been donated to the hospital, letting the boys search through it and try to find something that fits.

 

It’s mostly baggy sweatpants and t-shirts, most of which are hilariously oversized. They try to stick to greys and blacks for the sake of a low profile, but they all get a good laugh out of Seunghyun wearing a t-shirt the color of a ripe banana emblazoned with a winking smiley face. Youngbae has to roll up the cuffs of his sweatpants about four times to keep from tripping over them, and Daesung can’t find two socks that match, so he settles for a blue and a grey—which have dolphins and sharks printed on them, respectively.

 

Each of them also grabs a hoodie approximately four sizes too big, both to keep warm and to avoid drawing attention. Paired with masks, Seungri thinks they look fairly inconspicuous. Daesung jokes that they won’t be recognized since none of them are wearing a smidge of makeup.

 

Seungri slips on his dirty white sneakers to complete the outfit, a piece of duct tape over the tear in the right upper. He isn’t sure he can untie the laces at this point, stiff as they are with salt water.

 

“You look like a bum,” Seunghyun chuckles as he looks Seungri up and down, from his messy hair to his ill-fitting clothes to his shoes held together with duct tape and willpower.

 

“All the better not to be recognized,” Seungri grins. “Oh, and you’re not much better, _hyung._ You look like an escaped lunatic.”

 

The others burst into laughter at that comment, and Seunghyun pretends to be affronted, though he can’t help but laugh with them.

 

Once all their paperwork is processed, they are finally cleared to leave, and Heeyoung comes to see them out. “You boys be safe now,” she says, and hands Seungri a small backpack that feels full. “I thought you might need something for the trip home.”

 

Curious, Seungri unzips the bag and glances inside. There are snacks, earplugs, water bottles, money for a cab, and a small bottle of pain medicine stashed inside. Overwhelmed, he hardly knows what to say. “Thank you,” he manages finally, and bows ninety degrees. The other four chorus their thanks in unison, bowing as one.

 

Seungri pulls his mask up over his mouth and nose, waving to Heeyoung and Dr. Kim as he leaves, a last goodbye before following the other members out to the taxi waiting to take them to the airport.

 

The Jeju International Airport feels overwhelmingly busy at first, but the shock doesn’t last long and soon fades into something familiar. They’ve done this a million times before—though, this time, Seungri has to admit he feels a bit out of place among all the businessmen in crisp suits and women in elegant heels.

 

The five of them stick close to one another as they move through the crowd towards their designated gate, keeping their heads down. Seungri is vaguely worried about being recognized, but everyone in the airport seems to be caught up in their own business. Even the terminal worker doesn’t look twice at them as they scan boarding passes and file onto the plane.

 

Even with no luggage to speak of, it feels crowded inside the plane. The five of them are crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in economy for the sake of lying low, but Seungri can’t bring himself to mind. The flight to Seoul will only take a few hours, even with a stop in Fukuoka in between. His first thought is to put headphones in, but in the absence of anything like that, sleeping will do just as well. Jiyong is already asleep in the seat next to him, his head resting on Seungri’s shoulder, and Seungri can already feel himself getting sleepy. Sighing softly, he settles into his seat and closes his eyes, feeling Seunghyun pat his thigh fondly before he drifts off. It doesn’t much bother him that they’re not quite back in Seoul yet; as far as Seungri is concerned, with his brothers safe and sound, he is already home.

 

~oOo~

 

Returning to Seoul feels both familiar and bizarrely strange. After a brief, clandestine meeting with YG, the five of them are at a bit of a loss for what to do. YG told them that everything related to performing and touring is on hold for six months—he wanted them to have ample time to recover from their ordeal. YG also did an impressive job of shielding them from the media frenzy that inevitably followed their return to Seoul, and they gratefully take the opportunity to slip under the radar.

 

After the first week, all five of them end up basically living in Seunghyun’s villa, sequestered on the outskirts of the city. It’s hardly strange, given that they’ve spent almost the majority of their lives in one another’s company, and Seungri can’t help but be relieved. For some reason he can’t stomach the thought of going back to his empty apartment, and the dorm where they used to live together is too close to the media frenzy they’re trying to avoid.

 

It starts out with the four of them hanging around Seunghyun’s place to keep him company, but now they pretty much never leave. Each of them has left maybe twice: once to pack a bag from their respective apartments, and once to visit family for a few days. Seunghyun’s place is big enough that they could each have their own bedroom if they wanted to, but more often than not they end up sleeping in a pile of blankets on the couches or the floor in the spacious living room, sprawled over one another like puppies.

 

After buying enough groceries to feed a small army, Daesung does most of the cooking, both because he enjoys it and because no one makes _samgyeopsal_ like he does. For once in their lives they don’t have the company criticizing them about maintaining their weight, and they fully intend to take advantage of it.

 

Seungri has lost about seven kilograms, and for someone with an already trim figure, it makes him look unhealthily thin. He worries especially for Jiyong, who has always been thin but is now skinny as a rail and so bony that his collarbones stand out clearly, and Seungri can easily count his vertebrae when he’s shirtless. Seunghyun’s cheekbones stand out more sharply than ever before, and even Youngbae and Daesung, who have always prided themselves on being muscular and solidly built, are looking skinny.

 

The five of them haven’t had a vacation this long since, well, ever. At first they are almost at a loss for what to do; going out on the town is too risky, and even going to the grocery store necessitates precautions. But they quickly find ways to entertain themselves, catching up on dramas and playing video games and all the other things they have never been able to do because their schedules were so busy. Seungri worried that he would be bored with nothing on his schedule for six months, but… it’s actually kind of nice. Passing the time with his brothers feels like no time at all.

 

Seungri jerks awake in the darkness with a quiet, shuddering gasp, a phantom ache in his chest, a nameless fear like the heat of flames still chasing after him. In the quiet of two in the morning, he glances around the darkened living room and tries to relax, waiting for his racing heart to slow. He never dreams of anything coherent, just fire and fear and blood on his hands, until he awakes with the ghost of a memory he’d rather not relive over and over.

 

A chilly breeze blows through the room, and Seungri realizes that one of the doors to the patio is open, letting in air that chills him even under a blanket. He carefully extricates himself from the tangle of blankets and Daesung’s legs on the couch, picking up a spare blanket from the floor and wrapping it around his shoulders as he goes to the door to close it.

 

Standing in the doorway, Seungri suddenly notices that he is not alone. Jiyong is sitting outside on the carved wooden patio bench, shirtless and smoking a cigarette as he stares up at the dark blue sky. Frowning, Seungri takes a step outside onto the freezing concrete.

 

“ _Hyung_ , what are you doing out here?” he asks in a whisper.

 

Jiyong blinks and glances toward him, like he has just noticed Seungri’s presence. “I could ask you the same thing.”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Seungri admits, and after a moment he takes a seat next to Jiyong. He adjusts the blanket and throws it around both their shoulders. Jiyong’s skin is like ice.

 

“Me neither,” Jiyong says after a pause. He exhales smoke from his nostrils, a silvery cloud briefly illuminated by moonlight before it dissipates.

 

“Put that out,” Seungri complains, if only for something to say. “You almost died a couple weeks ago after your rib punctured your lung, and you’re smoking again? Aish. I thought you were quitting.”

 

Jiyong chuckles softly at that, though he does flick the spent cigarette onto the concrete. “You’re right again, _maknae_ ,” he says. “Stress, I guess.”

 

Seungri glances up at the cloudy night sky, where the moon is still visible through a layer of mist. “Do you still dream about it? That day?” The week that they spent on that island is mostly a blur of sights and sounds and hunger and thirst, but the final day, the day they were rescued, is seared into Seungri’s memory.

 

Jiyong is quiet for a moment. “I don’t really remember a lot of it,” he admits finally, absently touching his left side, where a pink scar about three inches long underlines the tattoo there.

 

Seungri looks at him, curious.

 

Jiyong’s gaze is downcast, distant. “I remember bits and pieces: feeling like my body was on fire, like I was breathing broken glass. It hurt so much that nothing felt real anymore,” he says softly. “I remember thinking I was going to die.”

 

A pause, and he glances at Seungri. “I remember you, though. You telling me that we were going home, that you wouldn’t leave me behind.”

 

“You never left me behind, either,” Seungri says with a small smile. “Even when I was just some punk kid you didn’t want in your band.”

 

“Hey, we might have gotten off to a rough start back then, but you are just as much my brother as Youngbae or Seunghyun or Daesung. Don’t ever forget that, Lee Seunghyun.”

 

Seungri knows this, of course, but to hear Jiyong say it so plainly is enough to make a knot of emotion tighten his throat. He swallows hard, tries to discreetly wipe his eyes. “In those first couple days on the island… did you mean it?” he asks after a pause, softly. “What you said to me?”

 

There is a brief silence, the sound of trees rustling in the wind, and Seungri suddenly wonders if Jiyong even remembers their conversation that day.

 

“About you being leader?” Jiyong finally breaks the spell. He remembers. “Of course I did.”

 

Seungri gapes. “But… why me?” It’s a question that’s been in the back of his mind for weeks. “If you had to pick, I thought it would be Seunghyun, or at the very least Youngbae.”

 

Jiyong can’t help but laugh softly. “I’ve known Seunghyun since he and I were kids. He’s talented, but he couldn’t manage his way out of a paper bag. And Youngbae… I just don’t think he has the heart for some of the hard decisions you have to make as leader.” He absently rubs his freezing hands together, pulling the blanket a little tighter around the both of them. “But you, Seungri… I see a little bit of myself in you. Maybe that’s selfish of me, but that’s how I feel.”

 

Seungri doesn’t quite know what to say, except that thinking of such things makes some part of him upset. The memory of their last brush with the unthinkable is still too real, too near. If things had turned out differently that day… He doesn’t know what he would have done. He doesn’t like to think about it.

 

“That decision still stands, by the way,” Jiyong continues after a moment, serious. “If something happens to me, then you’re in charge, Seungri. Don’t let Big Bang fall apart. Don’t let all of our hard work be for nothing just because I’m not there.”

 

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Seungri insists, because to think otherwise is too painful. “I don’t wanna have to think about that for a long time. Not till we’re old, you hear me, _hyung_?”

 

The door creaks behind them, and both of them look up to see Youngbae standing in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket and looking half-asleep. “It’s freezing out here,” he mumbles, squinting at them. “Come inside, both of you. It’s too cold to keep the door open.”

 

Realizing that his bare feet are practically numb with cold, Seungri is inclined to think that’s a good idea.

 

“Shut that door, will you?” Seunghyun grumbles from the couch, wrapped in two blankets. “I can’t sleep if I’m freezing my balls off.”

 

Daesung yelps when Seungri lays back down on the couch with him, every part of him icy cold from being outside. “Aish! You’re so cold! Have you been wandering around outside or what?”

 

Seunghyun squeals and flails when Jiyong places icy hands against his neck, caught up in a tangle of blankets, and they all laugh. “Fucking hell, Jiyong, talk about the cold hands of death,” he complains. “Come here, both of you idiots.” He opens up the enormous blanket to invite them into his warm cocoon.

 

Jiyong and Seungri don’t hesitate to burrow into the warmth, even as Seunghyun hisses at them to keep their icy feet to themselves. Daesung and Youngbae pile onto the couch as well (thankfully, it’s enormous as well as comfortable, like most of the furniture in Seunghyun’s house). With Seunghyun’s arm thrown over him and his chest pressed against Jiyong’s back, and the solid warm weight of Youngbae laying across his legs and Daesung sprawled next to Seunghyun, Seungri can’t complain about being cold. This time, sleep comes easier, and he dreams no more.

 

~oOo~

 

_Six months later_

 

Tonight is the night. It’s their first concert since the end of their six-month hiatus, and they intend to come back with a bang at the Gocheok Sky Dome. They’ve rehearsed for weeks prior, going over the set and perfecting their choreography, getting as close to perfect as they can. After hearing some of their critics doubt that Big Bang could come back from something like this, especially after six months of all but dropping off the map, they had resolved to make this performance one of their best.

 

The urgent background buzz of voices and people backstage hurrying to make last-minute preparations is familiar, and Seungri lets the makeup _noonas_ and stylists fuss over him and fix his hair and adjust his outfit without complaint. The usual last-minute mishaps were being corrected speedily: adjusting Youngbae’s too-long pants, sewing a button that popped off Daesung’s shirt, styling Seungri’s newly platinum-blond hair just so.

 

“Ahh, so handsome!” coos Miyoung, his outfit coordinator. “Stand up and show me.”

 

Seungri stands and turns in a circle for her, finishing with a flourish and a devilish smile, smoothing the lapels of his leather jacket. “You’ve outdone yourself, _noona_.”

 

The stage manager opens the door, leaning halfway into the room. “You guys are on in five,” he says, looking at all of them. “You ready?”

 

The five of them bid goodbye to the stylists, who wish them good luck on the way out. As they do a final equipment check, making sure mics and in-ears are working properly, Seungri can’t deny that he’s a little nervous. He hasn’t been this jittery for a performance in years, and he jumps a little when Seunghyun’s heavy hand clasps his shoulder.

 

“Relax, _maknae_ ,” he chuckles. His violet contacts make his eyes look unnaturally bright.

 

Seungri just offers a sheepish smile, resisting the urge to run his hands through his hair and mess up the careful styling.

 

“You should listen to _hyung_ ,” Jiyong agrees, glancing at himself in the mirror one last time. His jacket is red with glittering silver studs, matching his newly dyed crimson hair. “Loosen up, Seungri.” He grins, all fiery stage persona charm. “I’ve been looking forward to this day.”

 

Seungri chuckles, standing a little straighter and rolling his shoulders to loosen up his tense muscles. “So have I.”

 

“Places, everyone!” the stage manager calls out, and as the stage lights come on, the crowd roars in anticipation.

 

Finally the music comes on, the thump of the bass so deep Seungri can feel it in his sternum, and the five of them step into the bright lights, the crowd’s roar rising to a fever pitch. The lights are hot but the night air is chilly, the screams deafening, and Seungri’s nervousness evaporates in a surge of adrenaline. This is what he was made for. As the first notes of “Bang Bang Bang” pulse from the speakers, a million glowing crowns waving in the audience like a ripple of stars against the night, Seungri falls into step with the music and with his brothers. Perfectly synced, the five of them move as one, and in that moment, he feels free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had two endings written for this, and I picked this one because the other one was just too damn sad. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed. Thanks for reading!


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